Thermopylae

A few of his better friends
were standing vigil in the hallway
near the bathroom where he'd been holed up
while acquaintances and bar trash
cluttered his back porch

a few of them throwing beer bottles
at each other, the glass shattering on the patio.

"He only drinks twice a year," someone said in an
apologetic tone as I walked towards the bathroom door.

I knocked twice, entered, closed the door behind me.

"Here's the Birthday Boy..."

He was standing over the toilet
wearing only a bathing suit.
His back was as hairy as mine;
it was one of the few things we had in common.

The familiar scene made me feel his vulnerability
in a way that only someone who's sworn off drinking
at least fifty times can understand.

"Thanks for coming," he said. "I ruined myself."

"At least it smells like coffee in here, not vomit."

"I was puking up coffee," he replied
refusing to accept my consolation prize.

I figured his parents had given it to him
in an effort to help sober him up, but didn't ask.
Mentioning the substance floating in the toilet
is against the rules.

"Are there girls here?" he asked
in search of validation for the success of his party.

"Tons."
I would've lied if there weren't.
Another one of the rules.

That real friend who had tried to explain things
had gone upstairs to deal with
the bottle-flingers after I'd told him about it;
he knew them better than I did
and could probably handle it more
diplomatically than I would've
despite the fact that I was sober.
I hoped that the man hunched over the toilet
in front of me would never learn
about the crime-- it might negate
the female presence factor for him.

"I'm going to take off. Just wanted to wish you
a happy birthday first."

I didn't tell him why I was leaving, didn't quite know why myself
other than the fact that I felt like a washed-up actor
who had forgotten his lines and was stumbling
through a scene he used to play so well.

"I love you, man," he said over his shoulder.
He looked so different without his glasses.
It broke my heart slowly and beautifully.

"Me too," I said as I closed the door behind me
and snuck out to my truck
before I could be guilted into staying
by people I know I'll have plenty of time
to talk to in Hell.